


Dreams Come Slow [They Go So Fast]

by ohemgeeitscoley



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, tumblr prompt gone crazy, vague spec
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 22:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14198997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohemgeeitscoley/pseuds/ohemgeeitscoley
Summary: It shouldn't take a life or death situation for things to finally fall into place. And yet, it does.





	Dreams Come Slow [They Go So Fast]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [always_a_queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/always_a_queen/gifts).



> This was for a prompt on Tumblr from the ohsowonderful always_a_queen. The original prompt was "I'm alive... I can tell because of the pain wyatt/Lucy." It got a little long.
> 
> Big shout out and thanks to acheaptrickandacheesyoneline for being an amazing beta/cheerleader.

The first time Lucy begins to wake up she's only aware of three things. 

The first is that her eyelids are really heavy, and even though she is trying, she can't seem to make her eyes open. It's beyond frustrating. She has no idea where she is or if she's safe and her body is failing her when she needs it to respond.

She waits, begins counting backwards from ten before trying to open her eyes again. Only, she gets lost somewhere after seven. It’s pointless, she realizes, she can’t keep her thoughts straight long enough. 

She tries to remember what happened, tries to imagine why she would be injured. But it's just another thing she can’t do. She knows they were on a mission. The 1860s. The details are fuzzy though, tucked somewhere in her mind that she can’t access, and she hopes that they aren't still there. That she didn't compromise the mission by getting hurt.

It isn't long before the second thing she becomes aware of demands her attention. A searing pain shoots down her side, she moans, wanting to scream, to somehow move away from the pain. Only she isn't able to do any of that. She isn’t able to do anything. 

She thinks she's been shot. How does she not remember being shot? 

She tries again to remember, tries to push herself to figure out what happened. It doesn’t work. She remembers everything being okay. She remembers being safe. And then, nothing. She remembers nothing. 

The third thing she becomes aware of is the hand holding hers, squeezing gently. There is some noise in the background and then warmth rushes through her veins. At first, she panics. She doesn’t know where she is, she doesn’t know if she’s safe, and she has no idea who is holding her hand or what she is being given.

She tries harder to open her eyes, to pull her hand away, to do anything. It’s useless and she already feels the small ties she had to reality slipping away from her. Then she hears Wyatt's voice telling her to go back asleep. That she's safe and okay.

That he loves her.

It's one hell of a dream. 

The second time she wakes up, it’s only for a few moments. She slowly blinks her eyes open, squinting at the intrusion of the fluorescent light that is directly above her head. Groaning, she slams her eyes shut as she turns her head to the side and away from the light. When she manages to open her eyes again, the greyness of the walls surprises her. She’s in the bunker, or at least, she’s fairly positive that she’s in the bunker. 

She doesn’t want to think about what that means for her injuries. Because she was definitely shot. She doesn’t need to move her hand to feel the lines of the bandage pressed over her ribs. She still doesn’t remember what happened and as hard as she is trying, she can’t seem to focus long enough to even try to remember.

Her throat is on fire, every attempt she makes to talk is futile. Her eyes feel heavy, and she can feel the pull of sleep tugging at her again. 

Wyatt is still by her side. He is sitting in a too small chair that it looks like he pulled over from the corner of the room so he was right next to the bed. His knees are pulled up into the chair, and his head is propped up on his elbows. It looks painful. Judging by his appearance, a wrinkled white shirt meant for a different time, and unshaven face, it doesn’t look like he’s left her side. 

But that’s ridiculous. She’s not even sure how much time has passed.

Maybe this is a dream, she thinks, before falling back asleep.

The next time she wakes up, everything is more solid. She hasn’t opened her eyes, but her mind feels more intact than it had before. The pain in her stomach is still there, she has a feeling it won’t be going away anytime soon, but she’s expecting it, and somehow that helps. Wyatt is humming, but it’s not a tune that she is familiar with. It’s comforting all the same, and for a minute she lets herself relax and just listen.

She squeezes his hand, slowly opening her eyes to allow them time to adjust to the light. Wyatt stops humming, and Lucy opens her eyes in time to see Wyatt look down at their hands, a small, but still worried, smile on his face.

“Hey,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. He uses his free hand to push a stray piece of hair from the side of her face back behind her ear. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m alive,” Lucy says, her voice hoarse. “I can tell by the pain.”

Wyatt’s face twists into a grimace, his hand tightening around hers. “Lucy, I’m so, I am sorry. I should have--”

“Stop,” Lucy interrupts, shaking her head. She winces from the movement, realizing then that moving her head that much is a terrible, terrible idea. “Water?” 

Wyatt nods, briefly hesitating before letting go of her hand and walking to the other side of the room. Lucy watches as Wyatt turns on the faucet, running his hand under the water before placing a small plastic cup under the stream of water. Almost no time passes before he’s standing next to her again, his thumb brushing over her hand as he holds it again.

“Let me help,” he says, holding the cup up to her lips. 

Lucy lets him, thankful for the small relief the cool water provides her throat. She gives Wyatt a small smile as he places the cup on the makeshift desk next to the bed. 

She waits for Wyatt to say something, to begin filling in the blanks. Only he doesn’t. Instead, he stands still, his hand in hers, and just looks at her. Which, under normal circumstances, would probably feel strange. But he looks haunted, and if staring at her is going to help ease that tension, she doesn’t want to deny him that comfort.

Things have been off between them since Hollywoodland and Jessica’s return. It’s not that she blames him, his wife literally came back from the dead. Of course he needed time. She would never fault him for that. But, of course, with the way their lives worked, there wasn’t enough time between finding out Jessica was alive to finding out Jessica was a part of Rittenhouse. 

There was never enough time.

“What happened?” Lucy finally asks, biting down on her cracked bottom lip.

“You don’t remember?” He’s worried. Lucy can tell by the way he furls his eyebrows, and begins tapping his thumb against the inside of her wrist. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“General mission stuff,” Lucy admits, looking down at the sheet covering her as she tried to remember details. “We were in Illinois, had to make sure Lincoln was voted in as president. Which we did. I remember that. We were on our way back to the Lifeboat…” she pauses, sighing in frustration. “I don’t remember,” she looks up at Wyatt, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment. “I don’t remember. Some historian I am.”

“Stop,” Wyatt directs, his voice soft in his determination. “You were shot, Lucy. You hit your head when you… when you fell. It makes sense that you don’t remember everything. I’m going to go get the doctor. I should have done that when you woke up.”

He sounds guilty. As if it’s his fault that her memory is fucked up. As if going to get a doctor when she woke up was going to make any difference.

“Hey, hey,” Lucy starts, lifting their intertwined hands to her lips. Her ribs protest the movement, but she doesn’t let that stop her. She’s okay with regretting it later. She presses her lips to his skin, not sure who she’s trying to comfort with the act. She’s not sure she should do that, but she’s also not sure that she cares. 

She was shot. She deserves to be a little selfish. 

“I’m okay,” she continues, lowering their hands back to her side. “I don’t think a doctor is going to be any help right now. Just, can you fill in the blanks?” 

“Yeah,” Wyatt sighs, moving Lucy’s legs so he has room to sit on the edge of the bed. “There really isn’t a lot more. We were on our way back to the lifeboat when Emma showed up. She didn’t,” he paused, slowly shaking his head, “I didn’t, I didn’t hear her. I didn’t see her before... God, Lucy, I should have been able to stop her. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Stop,” Lucy demands, letting go of Wyatt’s hand to place her hand on his face. She uses her hand as leverage to make him look at her. “Stop. Wyatt. You can’t, you can’t always protect me.”

“It’s my job,” he replies automatically and Lucy hates the conviction she can see on his face. She hates how she knows that he won’t let her convince him otherwise. “And I failed.”

“How long,” she nods toward the door. “How long has it been?”

“A week,” Wyatt responds, reaching up for her hand again. “It’s been a week.”

Lucy scrunches her nose, taking in Wyatt’s appearance. “Have you… have you left since we’ve gotten back?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

Lucy nods, a ghost of a laugh on her lips as she tilts her head down. If he hadn’t left, then maybe… maybe him saying he loved her hadn’t been a dream.

She isn’t going to ask. She doesn’t need to know. She had been shot. Obviously emotions were going to run high at a time like that, that didn’t mean she needed to push. But…

“Did you,” she slams her eyes shut, regretting the question before she’s even finished asking it. “Did you say you loved me? Before? I mean, when I was asleep.”

He’s silent.

“If you didn’t, it’s okay. I just, I remember waking up, or starting to wake up? And I thought… I thought you said,” she trails off, shrugging slightly at him. “It’s fine. Can we forget I said anything? It's probably all of this medicine anyway and I--"

“Lucy,” Wyatt interrupts, and there's a humor in his eyes that takes Lucy by surprise. “I did.”

“You did,” Lucy repeats, trying to determine if he's saying what she thinks he's saying. What she wants him to he saying. 

“Yes,” he confirms, dragging out the syllable and nodding at the end. Almost as if that movement solidified the statement, or somehow made it more clear. 

“You do?” she asks, unsure if what she was asking came across.

“Yes ma'am" he replies. It's the slow, easy smile that spreads across his face that sells it. The way his hand cups her face, the distance between them growing smaller. 

She doesn't need to hear him say it. She already knows

“I love you,” he says anyway, his breath a ghost on her lips before he's kissing her.

It's gentle and slow. He's careful to keep it light, probably to avoid hurting her. A part of her wants to fight against that, to pull him down and kiss him harder. But her body is already protesting her arm being held up for so long, and her eyes are growing tired.

She breaks the kiss. His breath is warm as it brushes against her cheek.

“I love you too,” she whispers.

They have more that they need to talk about, things that need to figure out if they want any hope to work. But for now, it’s enough.

They have time.


End file.
